


Sharp as Cathedral Spires

by Iki_teru



Series: Short of Breath [3]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Dark fic, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 12:12:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19273054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iki_teru/pseuds/Iki_teru
Summary: Some firsts come after all the things that shouldn't have happened at all. (TRIGGER WARNING: DARK FIC, NON-CON PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION)





	Sharp as Cathedral Spires

**Author's Note:**

> ONE MORE WARNING BEFORE WE PROCEED: THIS FICLET FEATURES UNDERAGED CHARACTER IMPLIED/EXPLICIT NON-CON. PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION.
> 
> As always thanks to mine beta, @rainingsomewhere

He lays her out on his coat of darkness, gentle as a lover. 

It’s happened often enough by now: the soft start, the lapping tongue, the prick of talon-sharp nails, the sting of wolf-bright teeth everywhere (everywhere everywhere, there is not an inch of her he has not tasted). The shift from almost pleasure to blinding pain. 

“Tell me,” Saïx commands, dragging his tongue across her collarbone, up to her flickering pulse. 

And Kairi does, finding comfort and warmth in the memories and oh, it’ll hurt later. When it’s just her and Pluto, being lost and alone in their cell. But for now she fills the empty halls with stories of sand and sea and  _ once there was the sun _ . 

Here is the scrape of a nipple and she’s not even angry at the gasp it draws out of her or the flicker of pleasure coiling low in her belly. 

Saïx catches the way her body shifts, the slight increase of pressure between her shoulders, the lift of her hips off the floor. He leans over her, lowering his head to the juncture of her thighs, breathes in the scent of her. Then the unexpected: he closes his eyes and presses his mouth against her core so tenderly, like she’s a precious thing. 

It’s too much, too close to something real—to  _ kind _ —and it hurts more than all the nights he’s drawn blood combined. 

Later, when he is spent and she is too sore to move or cry he presses a now gloved hand to the space between her breasts. “Your sorrow,” he says, “is incandescent.”


End file.
